The Burning Sea
by Beth Kage
Summary: DI Lestrade has a new case for Sherlock- a drowned man found in an abandoned, freshly charred building. As Sherlock and John investigate, the sister of the victim, Samantha, continues to get in their way, determined to find the truth herself, trusting no one. But when there's no one else she can turn to, will Samantha be able to put her little brother's case in Sherlock's hands?
1. Chapter 1- Water and Fire

Sherlock Holmes was standing in the doorway of his flat on Baker Street, tucking his scarf underneath the collar of his trench coat as he waited for his friend. "John!" the detective called out. "Hurry it up! I want to see what Lestrade has for us today."

"Coming!" the doctor called back from the other side of the flat.

Sherlock sighed irritatedly. That had been John's response for at least the past four and a half minutes. Four minutes and thirty-six seconds to be exact. The detective was growing impatient. It wasn't like before when he was working alone and could just leave whenever he was ready.

Detective Lestrade had just put the duo on a new case, one that he had promised Sherlock would be "one of the most interesting cases you've worked on yet". Sherlock scoffed at the notion. How could Lestrade possibly make an assumption like that? Though, admittingly, Sherlock WAS quite curious.

After five minutes and eleven seconds, John finally came to the door by Sherlock, looking a tad flustered. Sherlock stared at John briefly in confusion, having no idea what the army veteran had been doing, but didn't really care enough to ask.

The two of them promptly headed down the stairs to the streets of London where they hailed a cab as they always did and made their way to the address Detective Lestrade had given them.

Pulling up to the old, abandoned building, John stepped out of the cab and stared up at the structure in slight awe.

"There was a fire here." he noted.

"Mm." Sherlock concurred, standing beside his partner. "Relatively recent, from the looks of it. Parts of the building are still a bit damp after the fire fight."

"Then the fire must've started up just this morning." John realised, looking at Sherlock in surprise.

Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, he started into the building, John following after him promptly. They made their way around the investigators who were examining charred remains of things inside, paying them no mind as they made their way up to where Lestrade had summoned them.

The two stepped into the room, finding several police swarmed around various parts of the room. In the centre of it all was a dead body and a lone girl knelt beside it, looking it over.

"I'm guessing that's our man then." John mentioned to Sherlock, staring at the man's body before either of them approached it.

"Oh, for God's sake, what are YOU doing back here?!" a loud, commanding voice demanded.

Sherlock and John turned around, recognising the voice as Detective Lestrade's, just in time to see the detective angrily storm towards the woman who was by the body.

"Friend of yours, I take it." Sherlock assumed as Lestrade stopped nearby them, glaring heatedly at the woman with his teeth clenched.

"Detective, please." the woman pleaded firmly. "Let me continue my investigation. I'm not leaving until I know the truth of what happened here!"

"I don't care if the victim IS your brother; you have no authorisation to be here!" Lestrade argued. "If I see you ANYWHERE near this crime scene again, I'll have you arrested!"

Two police officers then stepped in on either side of the woman, each grabbing one of her arms, and escorting her off the scene. As they passed Sherlock and John, Sherlock noticed a large shark tooth hanging around the young woman's neck on a thick black cord. His eyes narrowed a bit.

"Don't tell me you've called me all the way here just to be pest control, Detective." Sherlock snorted, turning his attention to the bustling crime scene again as he put his hands behind his back.

"Ah, she's a real firebrand, that one..." Lestrade replied, watching over his shoulder as the woman continued to be escorted away. "We can't keep her away! She's slipped her way onto the premise at least three times now! I don't know how she manages it!"

"Well, it's not as if any of these officers are exactly capable of outsmarting someone so determined." Sherlock mentioned, looking around casually. "Why are we here?"

"Brandon Nicholas Key. Just your normal bloke, on his way for morning coffee and biscuits." Lestrade began, walking towards the dead body with Sherlock and John in tow. "We found him after the fire was put out while investigating the cause."

"Body isn't singed too badly, so he didn't burn to death." Sherlock said.

"But Key was definitely here during the fire. The coroner matched up his time of death with the time the fire was at its worst, just before the fire crews got here." Lestrade reported.

"Well, obviously the cause of death was smoke inhalation, right?" John asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Do you really think you two would be here if it was as simple as that?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock, who hadn't spoken a word or taken his narrowed eyes off the corpse for a moment, stepped towards the body and squatted down by it, looking it over right away. "No signs of blunt force trauma or blood loss..." the detective muttered to himself. He twisted his body around to look at Lestrade. "What was the cause of death?"

Lestrade smirked just slightly. He'd been waiting for his moment to reveal the most perplexing part of the case. "He _drowned_."

"Sorry, what?" John asked, ducking his head toward Lestrade, thinking he could not have heard right. "What did you say- he _drowned_?!"

"And before you bring up a possible suicide, Mr Holmes, there's no way Key could've drowned himself in this building." Lestrade said as Sherlock slowly rose to his feet, keeping perplexed eyes on the DI. "This place has been vacant for over a decade now. The water was shut off YEARS ago."

"But didn't you say he had gotten coffee?" John asked. "Is there any way he could have... drowned himself in that?"

"Who drowns themselves in coffee?" Sherlock asked snarkily, glaring at his shorter friend for his ridiculous suggestion. "Besides, he hadn't gotten to the coffee shop before he died. The wallet in his back pocket was untouched since the moment he put it in this morning, along with a short list of groceries. Had he taken his wallet out at all, the note would have had to come out with it, given the somewhat sticky surface of the new faux leather wallet. Even if he HAD managed to keep the note in his pocket when taking out his wallet, the note would have gotten crumpled when he put his wallet back in his pocket. Clearly, he put the note on top of the wallet, put both in his back pocket at the same time before he went out this morning, and neither of them have been removed since."

"What was he doing in here then?" John asked.

"No one knows." Lestrade answered with a sigh. "I'd say you've gotten yourself quite a mystery here to solve, boys."

"That sharky girl- the one that keeps coming back to investigate- you said she's the victim's sister?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"Sharky girl?" John asked, confused.

"The woman who was here when we got here. The one with the shark tooth necklace." Sherlock answered quickly.

"Yeah... She claims to be Key's sister, all right..." Lestrade replied, sounding none too happy.

"And you never thought to question her?" Sherlock asked immediately, eyes squinted at once.

Lestrade's jaw fell open for a moment, but no words came out at first. "She was snooping around the crime scene like a- like a common criminal!" he defended adamantly. "Of _course_ we never stopped to question her! She wasn't supposed to _be_ here in the _first_ place!"

"Maybe that should be our first move then." John suggested, looking to Sherlock. "Find out everything we can about Mr Key and what might have brought him here."

"Yes. I think that should start us on the right path." Sherlock agreed. He flipped his coat collar up to protect himself against the harsh winds he knew were outside and immediately made his way back out of the charred building. "Back to Baker Street then. The game is on."

**Author's Note: Just thought I'd let my readers know that since this IS a Sherlock story, I thought it'd be fun to write it in UK English as opposed to my native American English. Maybe it's a disrespectful jump since I've never even been outta the States before in my life. I dunno. If anyone who is from the UK is reading this and is offended or sees some errors with what I've done, let me know right away. I can change it. =)**

**Additionally, reviews are appreciated. By everyone. I personally think I have kind of a weak start here and I KNOW that the beginning is the most important part when trying to get readers to actually... read. Besides, this is my first post to FFN, so... yeah... Thanks, everyone! **


	2. Chapter 2- A Shark's Persistence

Back at the flat at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was on his laptop, searching the internet for anything and everything he could find out about the man known as Brandon Key.

"Interesting..." Sherlock mentioned, eyes glued to the computer screen. "Brandon Key was completely ordinary and not at all impressive. No Twitter or any social media account except for a three year old Facebook account that he rarely updated, nothing to suggest he had any affiliation with anything."

"So he was just an average bloke." John replied.

"Even _less_ than average, I'd say." Sherlock mentioned, eyes darting to their corners at his friend at once.

"So what was a man like him doing inside an old empty building like that?" John asked, sitting down in his chair and taking a sip of his tea.

"Boys, you have a visitor." Mrs Hudson chimed out as she came up the stairs to the flat, leading a young woman up as well.

"Go away. I'm busy." Sherlock dismissed, not even looking at the door, but dismissing both the landlady and the client with an uncaring wave of his hand as he made his way toward the kitchen.

"Oh, Sherlock, honestly. How could you be so rude?" Mrs Hudson asked in a disappointed tone. "After all this girl has been through!"

"It's fine, Mrs Hudson. Really." the young woman replied graciously. "Thank you."

"That voice..." Sherlock thought aloud, stopping in his tracks. He walked backwards, retracing his steps quickly to see who was at the door. "Ah. Just the woman I was hoping to see." he said.

"I am?" the woman asked.

"She is?" John asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Of course. If anyone could tell us about Mr Key's habits and lifestyle, it's his sister." Sherlock replied.

"But she was also caught lurking about the crime scene." John reminded him with a warning look in his eyes. "How do we know she isn't in on this somehow?"

"You. Sharky." Sherlock said at once in a commanding tone, spinning abruptly on his heel to her and pointing to her almost accusingly.

"My name is Samantha." she said firmly. "Samantha Elizabeth Key."

Sherlock raised his head and seemed to nod only a little, waiting one whole second after she'd spoken before he replied. "Sharky, why did you keep going back to the scene where your brother's dead body was found?" he asked indifferently. "In my mind, there would be only two reasons, the first being because you genuinely care for your brother and want answers as to the last moments of his life. The second reason is because you had something to do with your brother's death and you're trying to hide your involvement or the involvement of someone or some_thing_ else. Which is it?"

"Mr Holmes, I've come to you today to ask for justice... and to find the one who took my brother away from me." Samantha answered calmly, standing firm. "If you're really as good as the world says you are, then my involvement in this case will become apparent shortly. I had nothing to do with the death of my brother."

"Then why did you keep returning to the crime scene?" John asked, standing up and walking towards her just a little so as not to seem quite as cold towards her as Sherlock was being. "Why not just let the police detectives do their job?"

"Because there aren't many people out there who can be trusted, Mr Watson." she answered, directing her stern stare at him. "How can I be sure that this wasn't the work of one of the detectives on the case?"

"So you truly have no idea who could have killed your brother?" Sherlock realised. "Interesting..."

"Mr Holmes, please. I am begging you to let me investigate this case by your side." Samantha said.

"Oh, I'll take the case." he replied in sort of a snooty way. "But you won't be coming along, Sharky."

"But-!" she began.

"You'll only get in the way." he interrupted. "Right now, you have a wall built up. The only thing keeping that wall standing is your stone-cold and almost _obsessive_ interest in this case. But the dam is weak. That emotional barrier you've built up for yourself will crack at any moment when you realise that your only brother is dead, and that flood of raw, uncontrollable emotions will come bursting out at which point you will be completely useless to me."

"I can keep my emotions in control, Mr Holmes." she insisted stubbornly and angrily through her teeth, fighting the tears that stung her eyes. "As long as I stay focused on solving this crime, pretending that I am merely a detective on the case and not the sister of the victim... that is the only thing keeping my emotions back."

"But at some point, it will all become real to you. Your facade will crumble. Your little game of playing detective will come to an end." he replied, sounding just as firm.

"I'm not letting you two out of my sight until you agree to let me help you." she hissed, tears rolling down her cheek.

"Sherlock..." John began with a bit of a sigh, sounding as though he was tired of Sherlock's ice cold heart, just wanting to give Samantha a break already.

"Out." Sherlock commanded, pointing to the door, glaring at Samantha. "At least until you can get your emotions under control. You won't be able to think straight until they are and until then, I have no need for you."

Without saying a word, the stone-faced woman marched right into the flat, walked over to John's chair, sat down promptly, and crossed her legs and folded her arms, staring determinedly at Sherlock. Sherlock, seeming quite stunned, though the look was mostly hidden, turned to Samantha and stared at her.

"...So you're staying then." he said.

Samantha bit her lip and turned her head away with her eyes closed as if irritated before turning her head back to him. "I've given you your answer already, Mr Holmes." she answered with thick disdain in her voice. "You're not getting rid of me until you choose to willingly accept my help."

"So it's a battle of wits you're after." Sherlock replied immediately, eyes narrowed. "...Unwise, Sharky... Perhaps you don't know exactly who I am quite as well as your appearance suggests."

Samantha said nothing, just continuing to glare challengingly at the detective with her fiercely golden eyes. Seeing there was no reasoning with her, Sherlock turned away, ignoring her completely, and went back to work. John awkwardly made his way over to the chair where Samantha had placed herself.

"Um... do you mind... possibly sitting in that chair over there?" he asked her as she kept hateful eyes on Sherlock's back. "This is usually where I sit and I..."

She looked up at him with a cold glare that could kill, knowing that the look in her eyes would be answer enough for the doctor. She wasn't moving for anything.

John sighed heavily, knowing better than to try to coax her any further, and went into the kitchen, sitting at the table to continue drinking his tea.

The flat was awkwardly silent for about an hour before Sherlock decided to do some investigating outside of Baker Street. As he and John got themselves ready to go out in the cold weather, Samantha stood and watched them.

Sherlock looked over at her as he put on his scarf. "Coming with us then?" he asked in a perky tone.

"I said I wasn't about to let you out of my sight, Mr Holmes, and I meant it." she replied.

"Eh. Suit yourself, but the temperature has dropped a bit since you came around." he said, looking away from her. "It might be a bit uncomfortable without a jacket."

"You should know that we sharks are accustomed to the cold... Mr Holmes..." she retorted darkly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went down the stairs. John looked back at Samantha one last time before following his friend and she soon followed after them.

Samantha went with them in the cab that Sherlock had hailed; she went with them to every place they stopped at, never speaking a word. During a particularly lengthy walk outside, though she still said nothing, the bitter wind was really beginning to get to her. John noticed this right away. "Here." he said, taking off his own coat and putting it over Sam's shoulders.

"You don't have to be so nice to me, Dr Watson. I'm certainly being nothing more than a burden on you two." Samantha shivered, pulling the coat around her tightly for warmth.

"Be that as it may, Samantha, I made a promise to never refuse help to another living soul." he answered with a sigh.

"Well... thank you..." she responded. "I appreciate it..."

"Oh, this is just getting ridiculous now..." Sherlock said, stopping and turning to them abruptly with a disgusted look on his face, stopping both of them in their tracks alertedly. "Fine. You can tag along and help out."

"What- you're giving in?" John asked him, quite surprised.

"Where's your flat? We'll need to get your coat or something..." Sherlock said to Samantha, looking around with narrowed eyes.

"It's a house. A proper house." Samantha replied. "And if I didn't know any better, Mr Holmes, I'd say that you're actually showing concern for my safety or something."

"I'm protecting my assets." he replied. "Now quickly. Take us to get your things so we can get back to work."

Samantha broke into an elated grin, overjoyed to have finally gotten permission from the detective to help out. "Oh, thank you so much, Mr Holmes! You won't regret this!" she exclaimed, stepping up to him excitedly. She hugged him tightly, which surprised John quite a bit, but Sherlock just stood there with no expression on his face.

"Enough now. Get your things." Sherlock said after a few moments.

"Right! Sorry!" she realised, letting him go at once. "We'll take a cab. From there, we can take my car. I'll take you two anywhere you need to go!"

"Well you've certainly become helpful!" John joked.

"I told you. The only thing I care about is finding out what happened to my brother, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure I can do just that." Samantha replied. "I can be quite useful to you if you let me, Mr Holmes. Just say the word."

"Excellent. Shall we get started then?" Sherlock asked, seeming to have a whole new attitude towards her now.

"Absolutely." she replied with a firm nod. "I'll call a cab. I'm buying this time."

* * *

"This is it." Samantha said, unlocking the front door to her house and opening it, letting herself in before the two men. "It isn't much, really... but it's home."

"You live alone." Sherlock deduced the moment he stepped into the house, sounding a bit surprised. "I would have guessed you would have had SOME form of company."

"I do." Samantha insisted. "I have two fresh water aquariums, three salt water ones, and a dog."

"I knew all that. I meant some form of HUMAN company." he replied.

"Insinuating you thought I had a..." she began.

"Boyfriend." he cut in way too quickly, looking at her at once. "...Or a girlfriend."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Why would you think that?" she asked. "I've been single for two years now. I haven't dated since, and I certainly never _lived_ with any of my boyfriends."

"Two years?" John asked, looking at her, seeming a bit surprised.

"Why does that seem so odd to you two?" she laughed, looking between them.

"Dunno. Just... sort of... _does_..." John answered.

She became quite sombre at once. "It wasn't a good relationship." she said. "It's... taking me a bit longer to bounce back from it..."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that." he replied with a concerned look. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Fine. _Now_." she answered, seeming to shake herself awake from some unsettling dreams. "Anyway... I'd give you boys the grand tour, but I'm sure you're as anxious as I am to get back into the search, so I'll just grab my coat and we'll be off."

She rushed off into a room in the house, leaving John and Sherlock standing in her foyer. John put his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his feet patiently as he gazed up and around at the inside of the house.

"Seriously, though. Why did you think she was living with someone?" John asked his friend suddenly, looking at him. "You don't think her brother was living with her here, do you?"

"No. His Facebook said he lived in a different place in London entirely." Sherlock answered.

"So then why did you take such an interest in-" John began.

He cut himself off when Samantha ran up to them, not wanting her to hear their conversation. "Sorry about that! Ready to go!" she told them perkily. The shark tooth necklace she'd been wearing before was being worn on the outside of her jacket, still being displayed with pride.

"What's the story with that shark tooth?" John asked with a slight smile, just trying to make friendly conversation.

"It's from a tiger shark." Sam said, holding the tooth at the end of her necklace out a bit to show it off a little better. "My father brought it back from his trip to Barbados when I was a little girl. Tiger sharks aren't typically found around Barbados, and given the size of this tooth this shark was also quite large for its species, so it really is something of a rarity. It's really what sparked my interest in marine biology early on."

"Enough idle chatter. We have work to do, in case you've both forgotten." Sherlock said coldly, walking towards the door. "Sharky, get your bag. You have driving to do."

Samantha just as quickly got her purse and then stood alongside John, the two of them watching Sherlock saunter off.

"Are you so sure you want to go with him?" John asked, both of them keeping their eyes on Mr Holmes. "He ALWAYS acts like this. Most people can't stand it for long."

"I'm not most people, Mr Watson…" Samantha replied with a lowered head, keeping her eyes on Sherlock's back determinedly. She started after Sherlock, John following her after a moment of brief intrigue from her reply.

* * *

**Author's Note: I apologize if there are still any technical difficulties with the way I'm posting these chapters. I'm still learning how to use FFN a bit. I'll try to get better. Anyway, hope you guys like Samantha all right. I'm gonna wait until I get a few more readers and possibly a few reviews before I post the next chapter. Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for reading, everyone! It REALLY means a lot to me. ^^  
**


	3. Chapter 3- Breakdown

Sherlock and John both sat in the backseat as Samantha drove them back to Baker Street to regroup, Sherlock wanting to question Samantha further there. Even so, Samantha seemed to open up a bit without having been coaxed to in any way.

"My brother was a quiet man. Mostly kept to himself." Sam said as she drove. "I was really the only one he ever talked to about anything..."

"Do you have any other siblings?" John asked.

"No." Sherlock answered right away.

"No, I don't." Samantha said. "It's always just been my brother and I. Been that way for years."

"Your parents both died in a car crash six years ago." Sherlock said. "Brandon, being the younger of the two of you, confided in YOU after the loss, finding it especially difficult."

"Brandon always was very shy... but after our parents were killed, he became even more reserved." Sam explained. "Well... towards other people, I mean... He opened up to me even MORE after our parents died. It was like he never had enough to say."

"He was insecure." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, could you just let her talk for once?" John sighed, annoyed.

"No, he's right. Brandon was very insecure. He never felt like he could really trust anyone. Not after the accident." Samantha said. "Brandon believed wholeheartedly that someone was after our parents. He thinks that the other driver deliberately crashed his car into theirs to kill them."

"Why did he think someone would purposely try to kill your parents?" John asked.

"I don't know... I never could get Brandon to really explain his logic behind the theory." she replied. "Maybe he knew something about them that I don't..."

"Highly unlikely, given Mr Key's nature _and_ the fact that he was three years younger than you." Sherlock said. "Normally family secrets like that are confided solely within the eldest child. Chances are your brother was just a bit paranoid."

"Yeah... that could be..." Samantha sighed heavily, sounding regretful. "...I did what I could for him, Mr Holmes... I tried to convince him numerous times to see a therapist, but he always refused."

"Because he didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone but you." John knew.

Samantha shook her head in disbelief. "I keep replaying all the conversations Brandon and I had up until his death... I keep wondering if there was something I missed... if there was something he was trying to tell me, crying out for help but I totally missed it..."

"You can't blame yourself, Sharky." Sherlock said, looking out the window at the buildings and people that passed. "I'm sure if Brandon felt that something WAS going to happen to him, he would have told you right away."

"But why would Brandon have gone into that building then?" John asked. "If he really was as skittish as you say, wouldn't that be the type of place he would definitely stay away from?"

"You would think..." Sherlock replied, putting his hands together under his chin. "That's what makes all of this so fascinating..."

"Or _horrifying_... if... you're the _sister_ of the victim..." Samantha pointed out, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Brandon didn't have any enemies that you know of, did he?" John asked.

Samantha shook her head. "No. Brandon was the most peaceful soul you ever could've met. He never even so much as got a time-out when we were kids." she replied. "_I_ was the one that was always getting into trouble. Blame curiosity and a constant thirst for knowledge for _that_ bit."

Sherlock smirked. "I have a feeling you and I are going to get along quite well, Sharky." he said.

"You can call me Sammy if you like." she replied. "All of my friends do. Well... they call me Sammy or Sek."

"Sek?" John asked.

"My initials?" she reminded, her eyes darting up to her mirror to see him in the backseat. "Samantha Elizabeth Key?"

"Detective Lestrade said that Brandon was on his way out for coffee and biscuits." Sherlock mentioned, ignoring the nickname topic. "That was fairly commonplace for him."

"Yeah, he'd go out about once or twice a week to the shop." Sammy replied. "No more than that, really. He was quite frugal- ugh, I just hate having to talk about him in past-tense like this...!"

"You'll get used to it." Sherlock responded unemotionally. "Turn here."

"Where are we going?" John inquired.

"I thought I was taking you boys back to Baker Street." Samantha mentioned, a bit confused.

"We're making a pit stop first." Sherlock replied. "Certainly there had to have been a specific cafe that Brandon frequented more than any other. Take us there."

"Well, yeah, that'd be Sally's Cafe." Samantha answered somewhat suspiciously, looking back at Sherlock briefly. "There was a girl that worked there that he fancied quite a lot named Jenna."

"Well then..." Sherlock began.

The car stopped and he immediately opened the door, getting halfway out before stopping and looking back at John and Samantha with a smirky smile. "Let's go have a little chat with Jenna, shall we?"

* * *

Sherlock sat across the table from the waitress, staring at her studyingly with his hands folded under his nose. The waitress was a little unsettled by the detective's piercing gaze with those icy eyes of his. John and Samantha sat off to the right of Sherlock across from him, giving him room. Samantha watched with the same unsettled look in her eyes as Jenna, but John seemed unaffected. He was used to this sort of thing by now with Sherlock.

"...Mr Holmes, I thought you had some questions for me..." Jenna finally mentioned in a meek voice.

"Yes." Sherlock answered.

Samantha waited for those questions just as anxiously, though maybe not as nervously, as Jenna did, but they never came.

"Sherlock." John said finally.

"Brandon Key." Sherlock said suddenly, nearly cutting John off as he pressed the fingers and palms of his folded hands together and put them under his chin as he so often did. His eyes abruptly narrowed. "Did you know him?"

"Brandy?" Jenna asked, her interest perking up at once in fear, eyes wide. "You know my Brandy?!"

"_Your_... '_Brandy'_?" Sherlock asked, a little confused.

"I haven't seen him or heard from him in days!" Jenna exclaimed, sounding and seeming quite dire. "Do you know where he is?!"

"Hold on. Just how did you know my brother?" Samantha jumped in, eyeing Jenna suspiciously.

"Oh! You're Samantha!" Jenna realised. "Brandy talks about you a lot, you know."

"How did you know Brandon?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

Jena looked at him in alarm. "...He's my boyfriend!" she replied in a tone that sounded like the fact should have been obvious to all. "We've been dating for two months now!"

"Your present-tense manner of speaking about him reveals you don't know what's happened." Sherlock mentioned, lowering his head a bit.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Jenna asked nervously.

Sherlock sat back a bit and was silent. He wasn't about to answer that question, not when he knew the flood of emotions that would be sure to follow. John sighed heavily, knowing that the dirty deed was left up to him.

"Brandon Key's body was found this morning in an empty building a few blocks from here." Dr Watson said. "I'm sorry, Jenna... but your boyfriend is dead."

Samantha promptly stood up and walked towards the bathroom. Sherlock's eyes darted towards her the moment he saw movement and followed her until she was out of sight, not even bothering to turn his head.

"I'll be just a minute." he said as he stood up, leaving John to console the heartbroken Jenna.

Samantha shoved the bathroom door open and stood in the corner facing the wall and away from the door, her arms folded tightly. She wanted to cry, but she knew that even if she managed to do so away from the eyes of John and Sherlock, even if one single tear were to fall, a man like Sherlock would pick up on it right away and kick her off of the case for letting her emotions get control of her. She let her mind be consumed with anger instead so as to not be as likely to cry.

The door calmly opened behind her by a being that seemed just as calm. Sam didn't need to turn around and see to know right away who it was.

"...Are you all right, Samantha?" Sherlock asked in a low voice that was more or less emotionless.

"Brandon never mentioned that he was seeing anyone. Not ever. Jenna was the first girl he had ever mentioned to me and he never let on to anything other than fancying her from afar." she said sternly, masking her anger and bitterness quite well. "I have to wonder what ELSE Brandon had been hiding from me..."

"Be that as it may, you're still the most reliable and extensive source we have on Brandon's life." Sherlock told her firmly, walking up to her. "I realise how difficult this all might be on you, and I can promise it will only get more difficult as we go on... but you're all the help I have, Sharky. I need you to stick with me on this case or we'll never find out what really happened to your brother."

She remained still for a few moments. Then, she finally slowly turned to him. She looked up into his eyes with a look of strength and determination. Her wall had been repaired, holding her emotions at bay once more.

"Are you prepared for what we might find on your brother?" he asked, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed.

How could she ever possibly even HOPE to be? Sherlock seemed to possibly have an inkling as to what they might find and he certainly didn't lead on to it being anything good. But what choice did she have? She was the only one who can offer any information to the detective and on the same token, Sherlock was the only detective who would be able to find out the truth about her brother. Unless they worked together, the mystery would be eternal. There was no way around that.

"You have my full and complete cooperation from now until this case is solved." she told him stoically. "That is all I can promise you, Mr Holmes."

"That's more than enough." he replied. "...And you can just call me Sherlock from now on."

"Does that mean you're going to actually start calling me Samantha from now on too?" she asked.

He looked confused. "...What difference does it make to the case if I call you Sharky or Samantha?" he asked. "I had been referring to you as Sharky since I first started working on the case. I see no reason to change my habits if it doesn't affect the facts at all. It's just one more needless complication."

"It's not even that big of a deal!" she argued. "But whatever suits your fancy, I suppose."

"If it isn't a big deal, why did you make it into one?" he asked, looking even more perplexed.

"Just forget about it..." she sighed, not willing to put any more energy into the pointless debate.

Sherlock sniffed and then turned and left the bathroom. Samantha closed her eyes and shook her head a little, wondering how on Earth she'd gotten mixed up in such a mess. There was no turning back now, of course. Finding her centre once again, she rejoined the pair of men to continue the investigation.


	4. Chapter 4- Lies

"Jenna had no idea why she hadn't heard from Brandon these past few days. There was nothing that led up to it at all, according to her. Everything with him seemed normal." John explained as Samantha drove them back to Baker Street. "But from the sounds of things, it was definitely the same Brandon, your brother, Samantha, that she'd been seeing for two and a half months."

"Brandon never WAS anybody but himself. He always stayed true to who he was." Samantha said. "He never changed for _anyone_."

Sherlock, who had taken up sitting in the front seat beside Samantha, darted his eyes to their corners at her. "But that's the Brandon YOU knew. And the one he chose to show to Jenna." he said. "It's possible that Brandon was more or less living a double life that led to his being in that building when the fire broke out."

"My brother wasn't an arsonist, Sherlock, if that's what you're insinuating." Samantha spat, turning her head sharply at him with a hateful stare.

"Sharky, remember what I said earlier." he warned, keeping his eyes in their corners at her. His gaze turned forward calmly and he put his hands together under his chin. "We must prepare ourselves for whatever comes our way... Whatever we may find out about your dear brother..."

She took a deep, heavy breath. "Sorry... I guess I'd still just like to believe that... everything was okay with him..." she said sadly. "I feel so responsible for all of this... There had to be something- some kind of sign- that I missed from him."

"Mmm- not necessarily." Sherlock replied in sort of a playful tone with a pout.

"Would you stop speaking in riddles and just tell us what you've figured out already, Sherlock?" John complained irritatedly.

"I haven't figured anything out." Sherlock lied in an innocent tone, looking back alertedly at his friend in the seat behind him. "Nothing that I can undoubtedly prove, anyway."

Once they'd gotten to 221B, Sherlock jogged up to the stairs ahead of John and Samantha, eager to get started on his official questioning of the young Ms Key.

"Thanks again for carting us around everywhere, Sammy." John said as he and Samantha walked up the stairs into the flat together.

"Don't mention it." she replied kindly. "It's the least I could do for you two since you agreed to let me tag along on this little adventure."

When the two of them got up into the room, Sherlock had already set the chair out for Sammy. It was the chair that all the clients who came in to request Sherlock's help sat in, set in the exact same place as all the other times as well. As for the sociopath himself, he sat in his usual chair, fingers interlaced under his nose, head down, and eyes closed.

"Looks as though Sherlock's pretty deep in thought already." Samantha whispered to John. "And he hasn't even started questioning me yet!"

"He usually doesn't have to ask too many questions." John replied in a bit of a louder tone than Samantha had, knowing that the volume wouldn't bother Sherlock. "You've seen it yourself. He can deduce a lot simply by looking. He's solved entire cases in a matter of seconds just based on what he's observed."

"Stop wasting her time and mine now, John. Sit down." Sherlock said impatiently, keeping his eyes closed, having heard the whole conversation.

John looked at Sammy once more before sitting down in his usual chair. That left only one chair open for Samantha: the client's chair. She was a little hesitant to move at all at first, but she managed to make her way over to the chair and sit down without a sound, her posture straight and proper, ready for anything that came her way.

"You know, you've been with us for hours now, Sammy, and we still don't know your occupation." John mentioned.

"I work part time at the London Aquarium." she answered, acting a bit shy all of a sudden though her tone was still normal.

"Part time only because most of your time was taken up taking care of your brother." Sherlock said. "I suppose you can work there full time now that he's gone."

"Um... nicely put... Sherlock..." John mentioned painfully, a little peeved at his friend's inconsiderate tendencies.

Sherlock ignored him. "But Brandon was perfectly capable of living alone, and so he did. Up until his death." the detective said, keeping his eyes on Samantha. His eyes narrowed. "So why would you need to have that much free time to 'take care' of him...?"

"Because of the paranoia. It could strike and take him over at any point at all." Samantha replied adamantly. "I wanted to make sure that I could be there to keep him safe before he harmed any others... or himself..."

"Why not just _live_ with Brandon?" John asked. "You could keep an eye on him all the time then, couldn't you?"

"The house I'm living in right now was Mum and Dad's house. That's where Brandon and I grew up." Samantha replied. "After our parents died, Brandon and I lived there together. Just the two of us. But the memories of Mum and Dad were too strong from him there. It brought on more and more episodes for him every day, so he had to move out. It was for his own health."

"But you stayed." Sherlock said.

"Brandon wouldn't let me sell the house. He wanted me to stay in it, keep it up... just as Mum had..." she replied. "I think the real reason Brandon wanted to keep the house in our family was because he believes there are clues in there somewhere... Clues as to what happened to Mum and Dad and their murders."

"And that's why you had to work at least a little while each week. You needed some source of income in order to keep up a house like that." Sherlock knew.

"It's nearly impossible to do on my salary alone. Mum and Dad's estate helps out a bit." Sam replied.

"You know your brother drowned, correct?" Sherlock asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"As I mentioned before, I've taken a great interest in aquatic biology and such." Samantha answered with a nod. "I know what a drowned man looks like when I see one... but what I _don't_ understand is HOW."

"Mm." Sherlock acknowledged with a sort of pout. "That DOES seem to be the most intriguing factor of this case..."

"But we also need to figure out what Brandon was doing in that building in the first place." John said, looking quite serious. "There was no reason for him to be there."

"Not that we know of, no." Sherlock replied. "But that's just on the surface. The Brandon Nicholas Key that Sharky knew could not have possibly been the same man that died in that building. The REAL Brandon Nicholas Key had a very important reason for going to the place of his death... We need to figure out what that reason was..."

"You don't suppose he was in some sort of... gang, do you?" Samantha asked.

"Someone with Brandon's temperament wouldn't survive two days in a gang like that." Sherlock dismissed. "Mask or no mask, a coward is still a coward. There's no changing that."

"Shouldn't we go to Brandon's flat and investigate there?" John suggested. "I'm sure we'll find some sort of clue as to what he was up to."

"I have a key to get us in there." Samantha spoke up right away. "Only Brandon and I have keys to his flat. He wouldn't even let his landlord keep one."

"How did he manage _that_?" John asked with a little laugh.

"Brandon would have had those keys on him when he left the flat this morning." Sherlock intervened. "The only things he had on his person were his wallet and a short grocery list. There were no keys."

"What?!" Samantha asked, stunned. "Then... where'd they go? Someone must've stolen them, wouldn't you say?"

"That's our most likely conclusion for the time being." Sherlock answered, putting his hands together once again, lifting his chin up to secure his hands underneath. "Your brother was too guarded. That was his downfall. The more protective of something someone is, the more appealing the prize for those on the outside..."

Samantha sighed heavily. "It's getting harder and harder for me to keep my promise about remaining calm in all this, Mr Holmes."

"We can hold off on going to Brandon's flat until tomorrow." Sherlock said nonchalantly. "I have some things to do before we go in there anyway."

"You do?" John asked, looking at the detective and seeming quite surprised.

"Mm." Sherlock replied. "Shouldn't take long."

Samantha looked to John to see if he knew what Sherlock was talking about, but John just shrugged cluelessly at her, as in the dark as she was as to the detective's plan. Still, she knew she had nothing to worry about. With Sherlock Holmes on the case, the truth would sure be found out soon.

"It's getting late. I really should go home and feed Bubbles." Samantha said as she stood up. "I'll come round about eight tomorrow morning to pick you boys up for the day's journey."

"Hold on a minute. Who's Bubbles?" John asked, forehead creased in confusion.

"Oh, I didn't mention earlier?" Samantha asked, stopping and turning to him and Sherlock. "She's my Border Collie. Her real name is Suzy, but I call her Bubbles because of her fascination with the oxygenators in my aquariums. I had the aquariums down lower when she was a puppy and she would always go after the bubbles that rose to the stop. Literally scared some of my fish to death when she'd do that, so I had to put the aquariums up where she couldn't get to them."

As she started putting her coat on, Mrs Hudson came up the stairs with a tray with three teacups and a kettle of tea. "Oh!" Samantha exclaimed as she turned to go down the stairs, nearly running into Mrs Hudson. "Sorry, dear!"

"Leaving so soon, Samantha?" Mrs Hudson asked. "I'd just thought to bring up some tea for the three of you while you worked on your brother's case."

"I'll have to take a rain check, I'm afraid." Samantha replied, pulling her coat together tightly. "I really have to be getting home. I've been terribly neglectful of all my pets since the news of my brother's passing early this morning."

"I understand, dear. You're very busy these days." Mrs Hudson responded. "Well, I've always got some tea on hand, so you just come over whenever you like."

"Thanks, Mrs Hudson." Samantha replied with a little laugh. With a smile, she looked to Sherlock and then to John with her eyes. "I'll see you two tomorrow." she said. "Good night."

"Night." Sherlock answered in a low voice as John called "Good night, Sammy!"

"Interesting." Sherlock mentioned the moment Sammy closed the door as he folded his hands and rested his chin upon them. "Sharky isn't withholding even a single fact from us. She truly is as oblivious as she leads on. She had absolutely no idea about the truth of her brother's life."

"She wouldn't have any _reason_ to keep anything from us." John replied, seeming a bit annoyed at Sherlock's implication. "Surely even YOU can see it, Sherlock- she's just as anxious to find out about her brother's killer as _you_ are!"

"But even as anxious as she is to know the truth, she's finding difficulty coming to terms with certain aspects of it." Sherlock replied. "There's more to this case than she ever could have imagined and she realises that now and it terrifies her."

"Then for God's sake, at least TRY to go a little easier on her tomorrow!"

John stood up promptly and walked off. Sherlock's eyes followed him, wondering why his friend had taken such an emotional interest in the girl. Though, if he was honest with himself, there WAS something quite intriguing about her...

At least now that Sharky had gone home and John had left him be, having become too annoyed to deal with him anymore for a while, Sherlock was alone and that allowed him to focus on the case more. He fixed his fingertips under his chin, hands pressed together loosely, and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts escape to every corner and recess of his mind palace, determined to tie up every loose end of the case before the morning came.


	5. Chapter 5- Discovery

The early sun graced London with its presence in a sheet of glorious golden orange light. It poured through the windows of 221B, causing the abundant dust particles in the flat to be seen, their airy dance showcased for all to see... if anyone had actually been WATCHING, anyway.

Sherlock still sat in his chair, staring blankly at nothing with his position fixed exactly as it had been the night before. He hadn't moved. He hadn't budged. Not even a fraction of a decimetre. Even upon hearing the familiar pattern of a certain man's footsteps as they drew near, it could not tear the detective from his permanent, statue-like perch.

"Jesus, Sherlock, did you go to bed at ALL last night?" John asked, shuffling into the room in his pyjamas.

"What?" Sherlock asked, snapping back to reality, looking at his friend alertedly. "You've only been a few hours." His eyes narrowed and brow creased instantly, not slowing down his fast-paced speech. "Why are you in your pyjamas all of a sudden?"

"Dammit, Sherlock..." John sighed, dropping his head and rubbing his forehead in frustration with his right hand. "It's already 7:30 in the morning, you idiot! Sammy will be here soon!"

"Oh." Sherlock answered flatly.

He didn't feel guilty for having stayed up all night. Why _should_ he? He'd gotten so much accomplished, after all. Not only with figuring out a lot about Brandon's case, but also with preparing himself to uncharacteristically show a tad more positive emotion towards Sharky when she came. After all, she'd had nearly twenty-four hours to reflect on the fact that her one another only brother was dead now. Surely she'd be a bit more emotional today. He knew he'd have to meet that emotion with comfort, if he could manage it. There was no way around it: He NEEDED Sharky in order to completely solve the case.

He shot up to his feet at once. It was the first time he'd stood in about ten hours or so, he guessed. He found himself to be a little bit stiff, but that was no problem really. Once he'd gotten started on the case, that placid excitement of his he usually kept secret would course through his veins and he'd be fine.

He sat at the table in the kitchen, waiting for a cup of tea to magically appear beside him. It did that sometimes, he noticed. Sometimes John would make him some, he knew, but then there were other times when John was doing something else and the tea would still randomly appear. It was a mystery he hadn't solved yet, but one he didn't really care much about solving. It seemed boring anyway and besides, why would he want to stop a decent cup of tea from materializing when he wanted it most?

John walked into the kitchen, fully dressed now. Sherlock's eyes narrowed a bit as they followed the doctor from the entrance of the kitchen and over to the sink. It was a nicer outfit than John typically wore on a case. No doubt the bachelor was trying to attract the attention of a certain pretty client.

"Fancy a cup of tea then?" John asked the detective, already preparing to do so for the two of them, leaving the possibility for three open for when Samantha came.

"Mm." Sherlock grunted half-heartedly, his mind on other things at the moment.

The doorbell rang and Sherlock yelled out in frustration at practically the exact same time, absolutely _hating_ the sound of it. How many times had he tried to be rid of it? And in how many different ways? And despite his best efforts, the accursed doorbell returned time after time! He suspected Mrs Hudson had something to do with the annoyance's resurrection...

"Do you HAVE to do that EVERY time there's someone here now?" John questioned with an exasperated sigh as he went to the door to answer it.

He hurried down the stairs and opened the front door. No surprise to him, it was one Samantha Elizabeth Key. At once, he took on a sympathetic mood, knowing that today would be difficult for her.

"Morning!" she greeted cheerfully before he could say anything to her. "Sorry I'm a bit early. Got here a bit quicker than I thought I would."

"G-good morning, Sammy." he replied, surprised by her perkiness. You never would've guessed she was someone whose only sibling had died the day before. "Come on up. Sherlock and I were just having some tea. Did you want any?"

"Oh, no thanks. I had breakfast at home before I came." she replied as they headed up the stairs together. "Figured I might as well be at my peak for being Sherlock's co-assistant for the day."

He nodded approvingly a little. Sammy already seemed to have Sherlock mostly figured out. At the very least, she had the fact that Sherlock hated to be slowed down by anyone or anything down pat.

"How are you _actually_ doing this morning?" he asked her. "You know. Behind the whole 'I'm perfectly fine' facade."

"I'm honestly all right." she replied, laughing a little. "I know I'm still in shock, so in a way, the fact that Brandon is actually gone isn't one I've really been made aware of yet. Despite the fact that just yesterday morning I was examining his cold, dead body."

John was slightly taken aback. She really MUST'VE still been in shock. She'd just referred to her brother as a "cold, dead body" with almost a humorous tone.

They'd gotten into the flat at this point and John went to his usual chair without even thinking about it. Not wanting to intrude by sitting in Sherlock's usual chair, Sam just awkwardly stood by the door, waiting to be given the okay by the two men that they were ready to go.

Sherlock stepped out of the kitchen and stopped cold, seeing John in his chair and Sharky by the door. Both seemed to be decently comfortable where they were, despite the fact that they all should've been in her car and off to Brandon's flat by now.

"What are you two just lounging around for?" he asked them quickly, looking between them. "We have work to do."

John stood up, shaking his head. He had assumed that he and Samantha were going to be waiting for Sherlock to get ready, not for Sherlock to be waiting for them. Then again, he was used to this with the detective by now.

"Will you be all right seeing Brandon's flat like this?" John asked as he approached Samantha.

"Of course she will. It's an empty flat. It's not like that's where the body was found." Sherlock replied, looking at John with eyes squinted in confusion. He promptly made his way downstairs.

"I should be fine. I've just gotta get myself in the mindset that I'm simply there to investigate." she told John firmly. "But thanks for showing so much concern for me, John."

"Well, _someone_ has to..." he commented in a mutter, nodding his head towards the stairs where Sherlock had gone. "Just let me know if any of it gets to be too much for you, all right?"

"Thanks, John." she replied, hugging him tightly. "You're a good man."

It took him a little by surprise. She'd mentioned before that she wasn't a very trusting person at all, but for some reason, it was like she already seemed to consider herself friends with him. Not that he was going to complain about it at all, of course. She was attractive enough and he genuinely DID want to help her out.

"Better not keep him waiting then." she said, releasing him. "Something tells me this is going to be a long day..."

* * *

Since John seemed to already be getting in so comfy with Sam that morning, Sherlock decided he didn't want to bother with trying to vie for her time or focus with him. Instead, he sat in the backseat in the middle by himself, contentedly alone with his thoughts. He'd have time to ask her questions once they got to Brandon's flat, he was sure.

The song "Sweet Escape" by Gwen Stefani came on the radio, pulling Sherlock out of his reflections just for a moment. He was surprised to hear a relatively older song being played. He looked out the window, not making a fuss about it at all, already knowing all the words for some odd reason.

It was a bit of a drive to Brandon's flat, so Samantha and John took to talking rather casually with her asking questions about him and his life. It was one more thing that allowed for her to put the feeling of loss towards the back of her mind.

Sherlock, silently listening in on the conversation while he simultaneously reviewed the case in his mind, could easily tell that John was flirting with her a little bit, obviously trying to impress her with the certain way he answered her questions and the entire way he conducted himself. Not that Sherlock was an expert on relationships and dating, but he wasn't so sure it was wise of John to be making the moves on a woman who had just dealt with the heavy blow of losing a close family member.

They passed the cafe they'd been to the day before. Sherlock's eyes were glued to the inside as they drove by. He didn't see Jenna inside this morning. Either she didn't work this early or she'd asked for the day off entirely due to the recent events in her life, what with her boyfriend mysteriously dying and all. He guessed the second to be more likely.

The car slowed down to a stop in front of a tall, derelict building. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. From the money left behind by his parents, Brandon could've _easily_ afforded something in much better shape. He wasn't willing to spend much on housing. So then, how _was_ Brandon using all that money? Was he just letting it sit, collecting dust? Or was there something he preferred to invest all of it into...?

"His flat's up on the second floor. Let's go." Samantha said as she got out of the car, the flat keys in her hand. "I wanna get done with this bit quickly, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Sherlock replied, getting out of the car and standing beside her as they both looked up at the building. "Shouldn't take more than half an hour tops."

"Half an hour? Losing your touch a bit, don't you think?" John teased, looking at Sherlock as he joined them on the sidewalk.

Sherlock shot him an unamused glare as Samantha started towards the building. The two men joined her as she unlocked the front door with the key and then led them upstairs to the flat.

"This is it." she said with a sigh as she approached the door with 218 on it.

"Stop there." Sherlock ordered abruptly right as she reached for the doorknob.

John looked as Sherlock walked past both him and Samantha and stepped up to the door.

"Oh! Right! Checking the handle for fingerprints." Samantha realized.

"Fingerprints?" Sherlock asked, looking back at her. "Please. Who cares about fingerprints?"

He turned his attention back to the door and looked it over. There were a few nicks in the dark wood, but all of them had been left by previous owners of the flat. Not a whole lot to see there. But the doorknob. Now, the doorknob was interesting... Different from any of the other ones in the flat, Brandon must've had this one put on specially, wanting one that offered a bit more protection than he believed the other ones in the building did.

"Your brother was something of a germaphobe, wasn't he?" Sherlock asked Samantha, noticing the immaculate state of the metal knob. "He disinfected it regularly, easy to tell by the marks of corrosion from the industrial strength cleaners he used. Clean, but not polished. If he was truly obsessive compulsive, he would have not only disinfected it, but polished it. No signs of _that_ anywhere, so appearance was not as important to him as cleanliness. Same could easily be told by the state of the numbers on the door, 218." He turned to her. "He chose this room specifically- what for?" he asked, eyes narrowing abruptly on the "what for". "Some affinity with the number 18 or 218 perhaps?"

"Not that I know of..." she replied.

"But I looked into the flat's history last night. When Brandon came here to look for a flat, several of the other rooms on this floor were vacant while THIS one was occupied." he said. "He waited for _this_ room _specifically_ to be emptied out, but why? If the state of the outside of the door is any indication of the state of the inside, it's not the least damaged flat, but not the most damaged either. He wasn't looking to get a low rate for taking a slightly more banged up flat, but he didn't mind not getting the most pristine flat either. So why wait the extra two months for THIS flat to become available...?"

"Maybe he liked the view from this one better?" John suggested.

That couldn't be it. Brandon wouldn't have known the view in this flat from any other since he would have had to have entered it to see and the flat's previous owners had requested that theirs not be shown to interested buyers. It had to do with the PEOPLE in the flat, not the flat itself, the reason he waited to take it...

"Sharky, if you wouldn't mind?" Sherlock requested, looking to her.

He stepped back and Samantha stepped up to the door, unlocking it for them and opening it up wide.

It was dark and dusty inside. But besides that, nothing really seemed amiss. The three of them walked in carefully, looking over everything with a discerning eye, keeping alert for anything that could be any sort of clue.

"Just looks like your average, everyday flat to me." John commented.

"Interesting..." Sherlock said, scanning the room. John was absolutely right. There was nothing about it that easily indicated it as the flat of a man with any of the problems Brandon seemed to have. Not to the extent that he had them, in any case.

"Well, like I said before, Brandon never really talked to anyone besides me." Sam spoke up. "He didn't want everyone to know that he had as many problems as he did. I think that's why it looks like that in here. If he could surround himself with what appeared to be the lifestyle of a normal man, he could convince himself that he was normal."

Sherlock was a tiny bit disheartened. He had been quite anxious to see Brandon's flat, interested to see what secrets could be unlocked from looking around it, but there wasn't really anything of considerable notice. Suddenly, something caught his eye. He stopped and turned his head down the hallway, eyes immediately trained on the door at the end like a trained hunting dog picking detecting the movement of prey. He knew immediately that the room had to be Brandon's bedroom. And the door was closed... meaning Brandon was guarding a secret inside.

"Why would a man with increasing paranoia and a multitude of conspiracy theories go into a building that had been abandoned for over ten years?" Sherlock asked quickly, powering towards the bedroom. "The only possible conclusion: He _didn't_."

"Sorry, what?" Samantha asked, not following.

"But Sherlock, the body was obviously found in that building." John reminded, sounding a little annoyed.

"Exactly." Sherlock replied, stopping abruptly in his tracks down the hallway to turn to them both. "Brandon never would've even been CAPABLE of entering such a building, the stuff of his very nightmares, so why was his body found there?"

"You're saying someone put the body in that building after he'd died?" John asked.

"And THEN started the fire to try to destroy the evidence." Sam figured out right after.

"Exactly." Sherlock replied. "That's the most reasonable conclusion at this point, and one of our two remaining possibilities."

"What's the other possibility?" Samantha asked.

"But Sherlock, Lestrade said that Brandon had died from drowning at the same time the fire was going on. When it was at its worst, even." John brought up. "So Brandon couldn't have died and then had his body dragged into that building. He must've died while still inside the building."

"But there was no way he could have drowned, right? There was no water nearby." Sam added. "Now I know it doesn't take much water at all for someone to drown, but there's a big difference between a little water and none at all. Since there was nothing to supply water at the scene, nor was anything found that would _contain_ any, we have to assume that whoever drowned my brother took the water with him. But then, if the coroner matched Brandon's time of death up with the time the fire was blazing out of control, how would the killer have managed to escape the building with his OWN life?"

"See how much easier life is when you actually think for yourselves?" Sherlock asked them in a condescending tone, amused that the two had fed off one another enough to make it this far with their theory. "Our killer was a bit of a magician. He had some way to tote around enough water to drown a man, yet not too much water that it was clearly any burden for him to transport. In addition to that, he had a way to escape a building engulfed in flames without a scratch."

"Any chance the killer could have used the water he had with him in order to douse the flames and make himself a path out?" John asked.

"The fire was too out of control. The amount of water that the man was carrying, even IF we assume it was quite a lot, wouldn't have been enough to do him any good. Like spitting into a campfire." Sherlock replied.

"But there was a LOT of water in Brandon's lungs." Samantha brought up, looking at John out of the corners of her eyes. "More than there _should_ have been for a normal drowning. It was like someone had physically _forced_ all that water into his lungs or something."

"And yet there were no drugs in Brandon's system that would have made him unresponsive in any way." Sherlock replied. "Meaning that Brandon was awake and fully conscious when all that water was forced into his lungs."

"Oh my God..." John commented, imagining the horror of something like that.

Samantha turned her head away, more so in anger and annoyance than sadness or disbelief. The fact that someone could have done that to her little brother... and _then_ the fact that Brandon actually let it _happen_ for some reason. She was pissed. REALLY pissed.

She suddenly stormed out of the flat, making her way down to her car again to be alone to cool off. John watched her go and then looked to Sherlock.

"Go after her. Make sure she keeps relatively calm." Sherlock said. "I have some things to check up on in Brandon's room first."

"Just make sure you go easy on her before you decide to tell her everything you find in there." his friend told him. "I doubt you can see it, Sherlock, but she's trying to be tough for YOU. She knows that you're the only one who can find out what _actually_ happened to her brother, and she's holding onto every shred of sanity she has left just so that she can help you in any way she can to FIND that truth."

Sherlock was slightly taken aback by his words, but accepted them with a single, firm nod. John nodded back and promptly went down to watch over Samantha. Sherlock waited until he heard John's footsteps halfway down the old, creaky staircase before he turned to the bedroom door and slowly, carefully opened it.

Once it was open just a crack, enough for him to see in, he pressed up against the frame to peer in, still opening the door further with caution. When dealing with someone suffering from such crippling paranoia, there was always the chance of a trap or two having been laid out to catch any enemies. Or the occasional sociopathic consulting detective, for that matter.

With the door halfway open and no signs of a trap being sprung, Sherlock slipped himself into the room.

The bed was smaller than he expected to see. In fact, it was the same bed Brandon had had as a kid. All these years and he'd never gotten himself a new mattress or anything? Could this be all part of his paranoia?

As curious as the bed situation was to Sherlock, there was something else he was looking for... and he found it, exactly as he had pictured in his mind, right there on Brandon's desk. Sherlock picked up the stack of papers that was on the desk and began to glance over them. _Finally._ This was EXACTLY what he'd been looking for.


End file.
